


Deception

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Series: Misfire/Fulcrum ficlets [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lulled into the security of his new crew, Fulcrum forgets that Decepticons can still lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deception

"I hate- running!"

Fulcrum found the energy to laugh- albeit tinged with hysteria- as he pulled Misfire against him and kept racing through the undergrowth. _Ugh,_ organic matter was being wedged even further into his pedes and mashed into his joints and purging his tanks during a rescue wasn't such a good idea. "I- I _hate-_ organic planets."

"I hate th- the _natives!_ " Misfire gasped, glancing behind quickly. "They're not- too pleased- we escaped again."

Fulcrum nodded, cursing when his grip on Misfire's waist slipped. It _should_ be the jet carrying _him,_ not the other way around-

His hand spread curiously, optics widening when he felt just how slick his fingers were.

"Oi, you can f-feel me up when-,"

"How badly are you hurt?" Fulcrum wanted to stop, or at least slow down to check; not an option with the cannibals screaming and shooting close behind. He knew Misfire had been hit as they ran from the crude camp, but he hadn't thought it was _that_ bad. At least, Misfire hadn't started whining about a wound like he usually did.

"Nicked a fuel- fuel line," Misfire said cheerfully. "Looks worse than- it is."

"Oh, good." Numbing relief swept through Fulcrum, amplified by the beautiful sight of Krok and Spinister exiting the W.A.P., giving them cover fire as they scrambled aboard. As soon as the ramp closed behind, the ship shuddered through liftoff and Fulcrum dared to relax. He handed Misfire off to Spinister, nearly overbalancing once his weight shifted.

"Go recharge," Misfire suggested. "You need it."

Fulcrum frowned as he considered. He certainly did need the rest; he'd been too nervous to recharge at all when they'd been captured, opting instead to watch for opportunities to escape while Misfire tittered and snored in his lap. "But what about you?"

"I'll get him fixed up," Spinister replied as he dragged the hapless jet down the causeway.

Fulcrum gave Krok a resigned smile and stumbled away, letting his steps guide him automatically. Optics dim, more exhausted than he ever remembered, he fell into his berth face-down and slipped into recharge immediately; too tired to notice the steady drip of energon left smeared on his hands.

~~~~

Fulcrum rolled into nothing, the lack of resistance jarring him online. His optics reluctantly flickered on, confirming the suspicious absence of Misfire. He checked his chronometer, surprised by how long he'd been offline. Maybe Misfire had come and gone while he'd slept.

It took an heroic effort but eventually Fulcrum was standing, blinking blearily at the door before weaving out and down the hall. He was dangerously low on fuel, but he would make time to find Misfire first and berate him for not waking him up for a cube or three joors ago.

But something was wrong; the ship was too quiet, and he peeked in Misfire's room just to make sure the jet wasn't cheating and recharging on his own, but it was empty.

 _Cheating._ Fulcrum huffed at himself and continued on. Misfire knew exactly how to worm his way under his plating, apparently.

He saw Krok leaving the med bay and sped up, startled to find the commander's face drawn tight with worry. "Hey, have you seen Misfire? Can't find him any- What's wrong?"

Krok's optics burned with anger at the jet's name. "Where do you think? Spinister just finished the surgery."

"What? For a cracked fuel line?" 

"...You didn't know?"

Fulcrum shifted nervously. "Know what?"

Krok relaxed his aggressive stance before answering. "Misfire's fuel lines were _severed,_ along with a good chunk of his fuel pump blasted open by that lucky shot. He was redlining when you got aboard."

" _What?!_ " Fulcrum gasped, struggling to squeeze past Krok. "He said- he said they sliced a fuel line, wasn't as bad as I thought- Why did he- I need to see him! _Please!_ "

Krok moved aside and Fulcrum bolted into the med bay, horrified to see Misfire hooked to all types of medical apparatus. He knelt beside the jet, ignoring Spinister's protests as he rested a hand on a scuffed shoulder. Misfire's optics were dimmed but swiveled to focus on him.

"Why did you lie?" Fulcrum demanded, then stroked Misfire's helm apologetically. "You must have known, why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want you worrying, loser," Misfire grinned weakly. "You worry too much."

" _Don't_ lie to me!"

"But now you're rested and you can pamper me while I heal," Misfire giggled. "Perfect plan."

Fulcrum couldn't decide if he was more frightened or frustrated. The panic hit all at once, though knowing Misfire should be fine dulled it. Venting heavily in annoyance, Fulcrum crawled gently onto the berth, curling around the jet like they did during recharge.

" _Don't_ lie to me," Fulcrum whispered, hoping Spinister wasn't still listening in. "You're _worth_ the worry."

"Just don't want you scared 'cause of me," Misfire admitted with a drowsy smile.

~~~~

Outside the med bay, Spinister held up two fingers for Krok to see. "Fulcrum needs to move. The berth holds one." He retracted one finger, giving Krok an exasperated look. "They're too cramped, it could slow Misfire's recovery."

"I think it's fine, just this once?" Krok suggested, resting a hand on Spinister's shoulder. "I'm just relieved to see Fulcrum didn't abandon a severely injured crew mate."

"Yeah. That would've been weird." Spinister shrugged. "Fulcrum is a good addition. He keeps Misfire busy and away from my guns." He glanced over, affection glowing in his optics. "You make the best decisions for us."

Krok's hand slid upwards to brush along the side of Spinister's facemask, enjoying how the surgeon's optics shuttered briefly at the contact. "I try."


End file.
